


Consciousness is a heavy burden.

by darksquall



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksquall/pseuds/darksquall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very short (700 word) ficlet inspired by the gorgeous artwork by Brilcrist - Bruce wakes up after one of his "incidents".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consciousness is a heavy burden.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brilcrist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brilcrist/gifts).



> I make no claim to the Avengers, I just want to thank that movie for making me begin to create again.
> 
> This was a ficlet inspired by and of the artwork by Brilcrist (which can be found here: http://brilcrist.tumblr.com/post/29539991708/here-have-some-fluffy-comforting-moment-post )

Consciousness is a heavy burden. Something had woken him, but what exactly it had been escapes him for the moment. His glasses are lost, broken; maybe just on the nightstand, but his vision and his memories are too blurred to tell. He doesn’t much care, for now. He’ll leave that for when he wakes up. “Nghhh…” 

If he hasn’t changed in a while, it hurts when he comes back.

The first thing he always notices is how much his skin _burns_. Like the moment when the radiation washed over him, he feels heat prickle through every capillary, every pore. Every inch of him is a nuclear fire that cannot be quenched. It _itches_ too. If he weren’t so drained, so exhausted, he’d be practically trying to claw his own skin off. 

He clings to the little things, noting them down one by one as he struggles to find sense again. The pillow is cool against his cheek. The air conditioning is on, he can hear the whirr of the fans and the vents, feel the cool air stirring his hair just ever so faintly. He can smell his own sweat, drying on his skin – he always does when he comes back to himself. Today, however, he can smell something more comforting as well. It’s a warm scent, like amber and spice – it reminds him faintly of mulled cider, oddly enough. Even though the room is cool and he feels as though he’s burning to a crisp between the sheets, all he wants suddenly is mulled cider. 

The bed shifts and the shadows of his vision coalesce into something a little more firm. “Hey,” Tony Stark gives him a reassuring smile. Even blurred by the absence of his glasses, Bruce knows Tony’s reassuring smile, but his gaze is drawn further down, to the glow of the arc reactor beneath the black shirt he’s wearing. If he weren’t so sure his skin would slough off if he let go of himself, he’d reach out and touch that glow, he assures himself. It feels like coming home, to see Tony and that light and drift off with its hum to keep them both company. It is coming home, now. No one else has ever understood, or listened, or known him the way that Tony has. No one has ever been as open or loving, in spite of who and what he is, and he’s never been entirely sure if Tony knows just how much he needs that.

“To…ny…?” he tries to speak, but his throat is dry and talking just makes it feel like it’s closing up on him. He knows its Tony. The cologne, the glow of the arc reactor, the familiar smile all tell him that it’s tony, but he wants to hear it in Tony’s voice. In that perfect voice that’s never hated him, not even for a moment. 

“It’s alright Bruce…, big guy,” Tony’s already teasing him. The nicknames are out early, so Bruce guesses the property damage must be high, but no one was hurt. He wants to confirm that but then Tony presses a kiss to his forehead and slides his fingers into Bruce’s hair, resting his palm against Bruce’s cheek. His beard prickles against Bruce’s skin – he hasn’t trimmed it yet, it’s still rough, so he knows that whatever happened, Tony hasn’t left his side since they got back.

Suddenly the fire is quenched. Every inch of him is cool, except for that one spot – that too small area where Tony’s hand is like fire against his skin. Keeping the hand there, Tony stretches out next to him, finding a comfortable position that allows the two of them to rest forehead to forehead, eye to eye. “It’s okay now,” his voice is soothing, and low, coaxing Bruce back towards his rest. “Just go back to sleep.” 

Bruce watches him a moment longer – Tony’s eyes are always so gentle. No demands. No expectations. Then he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh and whispers “T…thanks.”

He knows that Tony will be there when he wakes up. He doesn’t have to ask any more, because if this isn’t love, he doesn’t know what is.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Balanced Equation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/570179) by [lanapanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanapanda/pseuds/lanapanda)




End file.
